


Build our own

by Yuusakshi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Please Don't Kill Me, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuusakshi/pseuds/Yuusakshi
Summary: Everything has gone to shit.Steve lost it all.Tony clings to work as a lifeline.And Peter - Peter loses it after taking down the Vulture.Tony has to step up. From here on out, it can only get better. Hopefully.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

Steve:

Steve could not believe this. He stared, mouth open, fists quenched at his side, at his best friend. Except that this wasn't his best friend – not anymore. He didn't want to be, he wanted to leave him, he wanted to-

"I can't do this Stevie." After a pause, "I don't wanna be their puppet anymore."

"Then let's just stay! Let's live out of town somewhere – We can go wherever you want – Buck, anything! -" He started to sweat. "Stevie" Bucky shut him up effectively. "I am dangerous. I thought I could hide, but Zemo -" Bucky stared off for a while. "A risk to everyone around me. Can't justify that."

"I am here, with you. I can keep you in check." Steve tried, not for the first time, and it had worked so far.

Bucky shook his head. "No Stevie. I need to do this." Another pause. "Until there is a way to break the coding, I am going into Cryo." Bucky moved into Steve's space, between his arms, enveloping him in a one-armed hug, as the super-soldier cried.

It had all been for nothing.

Tony:

The impact regulation in the suit was still a problem. Tony took a sip of cold coffee. If he got a concussion from knocking into buildings, fine, but for Pepper that wouldn't do. She needs something to watch her back, like a shield...

"Boss, urgent call by Happy Hogan." FRIDAY chimed. _Aren't they always?_ "Patch through, baby girl." He swirled to another workbench.

"Happy! Buddy! Very nice ear hygiene, but to what do I owe the pleasure?" Happy took the phone away from his ear, face grumpy as ever. "Boss" His voice betrayed panic. "The plane crashed, we got the culprit, but Peter-" Tony pushed away from the workbench, falling into a jog "I'm on my way. FRIDAY, suit. Fill me in."

Anything Happy told him didn't prepare him for the scene.

Debris everywhere – fire – just a couple meters away, Peter. He held his legs tight, rocking himself back and forth on the sand, face passive. Happy was directing cleanup already. He flipped the faceplate up. It smelled weirdly sweet?

"Pete" the boy kept rocking. "What is it bud?" No response. Tony crouched down to pick the adolescent up and got a whiff of urine.

The clothes were ruined, Peter wore those PJ's he called suit before – because Tony had taken his away, and oh god, he could have prevented this, it was his fault, he could've kept him safe, if only-

Suddenly, Peter looked at him, "Daddy" he breathed and tears started rolling down his expressionless face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think the content of the chapter is that bad, but I have been forbidden to talk about certain stuff at the dinner table, so warning for description of injuries and their treatment. You should be on the safe side if you skip from 'He just followed Friday's orders' to 'He nodded, searching...'

It must have been the glasses. Tony had the HUD-glasses still on, that must've made him look an awful lot like Richard Parker. That must be it.

His heart has never beaten so hard, not even in that icy-cold Bunker in Syberia. It had only been his life, after all. This was so much more.

The poor boy he broke – he was certain, he broke him.

His heart picked up speed as Peter went pliant in his arms, but the tension returned in 30 seconds.

The HUD was flashing red.

His stomach rebelled. He just had to make it home. He just had to. He could not bear the alternative.

All that kept him from spiraling was the body pressed against his chest.

Almost there.

Almost -

He made it.

"Friday, scan." Peter still didn't look good – face pale, eyes unfocused.

"-condition stable. Severe burns on lower extremities. Medical attention required."

He just followed Friday's orders.

He filled a bath, dumped something in it, watching as the water turned dark brown.

It did smell medical, but also like a pool.

Then he tore the clothes off Peter's body. The fabric has melted into the back of Peter's tights; he tried picking it out with tweezers, but the remains of tissue just came off with it. He did not think that was skin.

Next, he put the kid in the tub, washing his body mechanically.

His Hand bumped something hard on Peters back, about two inches away from his spine. "Friday?"

"You need to remove it, Boss." The sympathetic tone escaped Tony's notice.

He nodded, searching for a scalpel. Half of him wanted to stop, to clear himself from the fog in his brain, rid himself of the weird detachment he felt, which was wrong, so wrong, this was _Peter_ -

But then he wouldn't be able to continue. It wasn't good, or healthy.

He felt needed.

So he zeroed in on the problem, carried out his task.

And the next.

And the next.

Eventually, he managed to get Peter on the couch. How he could not say. Per Friday's coaxing, he propped Peter up on one side.

As his butt hit the cushions, he let out a breath. He feels like he has been holding it since he first laid eyes on the kid. The one he was supposed to take care of, goddamit.

"Boss" Friday caught his attention before he could go down this particular rabbit-hole. "ETA on Miss May Parker ten minutes."

Tony did not have it in him to move – or even acknowledge – until a very out of breath, very dissolved Aunt shoved a hand into his face.

"I am sorry." he looked up at her, voice cracking.

She startled back.

Then she turned, intending to fuss over her nephew.

Peter reached out for her, his fingers dancing over her face, down her neck, over her collarbone, until the boy wrapped around her.

First, his shoulders dropped, then he started silently trembling. After some time, loud wails erupted from him, holding onto May for dear life.

While she looked something between alarmed and horrified, she started sushing and "It's okay"-ing while rocking him back and forth. It looked like she belonged, and Tony felt some semblance of envy.

Minutes passed, the sobs subsided. Peter had fallen asleep.

She lowered him down on the couch with practiced ease.

"I am making coffee," she stated, rising from her seat. "then we talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to use the motivation of the beginning! And I haven't used my writing muscle in a long time, so... I hope the chapters will get longer with time. Or when my poor babys don't have to suffer as much anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony:

A cup of coffee got set down in front of him, and he snatched it right up, cradling it like something precious. The warmth seeped into his fingers, returning some feeling into his numb limbs. It was like the body didn't even belong to him.

"So, what happened?"

Tony blinked. And blinked again.

Right, May was here. May wanted something. What did she want?

She sighed, then visibly, inhaled. "Stark, my Baby came home some time ago, told me he lost the internship. He was supposed to be at Homecoming tonight. Whichever lies you plan on telling me – just don't. Give it to me straight."

So he did. Told her about Spiderman. She didn't even-

"You took him to Germany?!" she shrieked.

"Yes! And it was a terrible idea!" he shot back, "No one was out for blood, but it was still stupid. Anyway- "

"No, wait. You made him a suit just so he could fight Captain America with you? Do you know how irresponsible-" - "Of course not! Most of the suit is designed to keep him safe! So he doesn't have to fight alone, or get outmatched or- or- and he'd have gotten it anyway!" Tony suddenly felt like jumping up and pacing but kept himself from doing so. "And then I took it away, I thought he'd be safer – not being Spiderman." He couldn't keep up the shouting "But of course he wouldn't stop. And now he's hurt. May, it was so bad – I'm so sorry - " he suddenly ran out of words.

"Oh, Tony" She breathed. The fight left the fierce little woman in front of him. She suddenly changed the topic.  
"I'm surprised they let you take him out of medical." She said it almost breezily.

Tony could hear the coin falling in his own head, the realization hit him so hard.

"Friday, why didn't we bring Peter into medical?"

"There is currently no medical staff employed for the Avengers. Other medical facilities did not meet parameters."

"How can you not have- just how?" May gaped, eyes wide.

"Boss has compiled a list of suitable candidates after SHIELD has been compromised, however, no healthcare professionals are currently employed ." Friday supplied.

"Show me." A hologram, filled with files upon files bloomed to life in front of her. She started swiping left and right "You know, if you had half as many nurses as you have doctors, your team would actually make much more sense." she mused.

Tony did not pick up on any of that.

_Friday didn't consider it safe enough to bring him to a hospital, because you put privacy protocols in place. Dummy! Imagine it'd been worse! Just because you didn't get your act together! You should have known better. Genius – who forgets to hire medics? What a genius you are – Well done, Stark..._

"Mr. Stark, you need to tell me what you did for Pete." May tried gaining his attention. "Uhhh... Friday?" Tony took the easy way out.

"Boss has removed all debris from Mr. Parkers body and cleaned the burns with an Iodine solution as per my instruction. He dressed all injuries appropriately." Friday piqued almost cheerfully. "How big are the burns?" - "Approximately 4 times the size of your palms in total, Ms. Parker." -"He needs liquid." May got up and went to work. The soft back and forth of the nurse and his AI washed over Tony like a hot shower after some hours in the cold. Pins and needles in his body. It was scalding hot and painful, but it felt so good.

It was the only thing keeping him from that big black hole underneath him.

Yet, he remained motionless. He wanted to move, help – really. He just needed to find his legs first.

Steve:

He gazed into the expressionless face. Briefly, he wondered how long he's been doing that – it must've been days. Or only a few moments, he didn't know. He also didn't really care.

Buckys face never moved. He looked almost serene – at peace. _He could as well be laying in a coffin_.

Was this what Peggy felt at his sacrifice?

Deciding to die – it really was glorified. Win or die trying. It wasn't anything you really thought about, as a soldier. Of course, you'd throw yourself on the Grenade if it meant saving a dozen others.

Really, being that one was lucky, he realized.

The ones left behind – they gotta clean up your mess.

That's what he told the Lady T'Challa had him see, around the 7th time they met. He spent the first few sessions staring at her, but she had some way that made him talk. He supposed he was grateful for it.

"You feel like your friend has burned the bridges – and you are on the other side. How does that make you feel?"

"Do you, perhaps, think it selfish of him to act as he did?" She mirrored his exact sentiments to him in only a few words. Always.

He did realize he was notorious at burning bridges – he despised it still.

It took some time to notice the Hypocrisy of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you like it - let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if the 700 Hits say anything, more than two individuals are reading this. Curious.   
> Anyways, I have tried really hard, and this is 2000 words long, so I hope you have some opinions.

Tony:

After May examined her little patient, she deemed him well enough to leave to Tonys' care and go to work. She showed Tony how to work the IV, what to look out for, what to feed him, and soon was off again.

"I have a teenager to feed and a rent to pay Mr. Stark." she laughed "You gonna do fine." She then declined any of his money.

The sun began to light the sky.

He tried reading up on Trauma Response and care for traumatized children, none of which he had ever done before.

_Be patient._

_Create safety._

_Establish a routine._

Alright, he could do that. _Can you?_ Next, he slept. Or napped. He didn't sleep well, never had. It's gotten increasingly hard since Afganistan.

"Good Morning Boss. It is 9:55 am. You have slept for 3 hours and 35 min." He didn't need to ask Friday to read him the time anymore. It reminded him of when Jarvis was around. It wouldn't be fair to compare the two. They're his children, and Friday was still so young. Jarvis had been with him for most of his adult life, knew his ins- and- outs like no one else. Now he was gone.

He did see a lot of him in Vision, but they weren't even remotely the same. Maybe he could see Vision as Jarvis' son. But that would make him a grandfather, and he wasn't ready to be that old.

However, playing favorites never ended well.

Breakfast seemed like a good idea. Routine and so on.

He padded through the halls, into the way too big living room. Peter still lay on the couch, fast asleep. The kitchen was open enough to still have an eye on him but closed off enough to not worry about waking him. He would know, he designed it that way.

He rolled up his sleeves, peeled and diced onion, cubed bell pepper and tomato, for scrambled eggs.

Then he heard some shuffling in the living room. A distressed whine. Putting down the knife he checked on the boy.

Peter was sitting the nest of blankets May tucked him into, looking lost and weakly struggling. There was blood on the blankets. Peter had ripped out the IV, in true superhero fashion. He dimly remembered pulling something out of his own nose once. The little puncture had already sealed though. A little sound pulled his attention away from Peters' arm.

He did a little awkward shuffle and whined again. Tony had seen that exact move on Rodeys niece a few times, and his friend laughingly called it 'the potty dance'. "Need to go to the bathroom?" He asked. Peter nodded, still whining. He did feel a little stupid. Liquid substitution would do that to you. He helped Peter to the bathroom, the boy clinging to him like a vice. When he lowered the boy onto the seat, he yelped and shot up, clinging to Tony once again. Right, that had to hurt like a bitch, with burns on the back of his thighs. "Okay buddy, we can do this..." He just hoped he didn't pull anything open. So he held the boy over the bowl, trembling in effort. Wall sit with 140 pounds of muscle clinging to you wasn't usually in his training regime. Tony did consider himself fit enough, thank you very much. It was hard, but eventually, Pete was done. From then on it was smooth sailing – until they reached the couch, where he wanted to deposit the kid until the food was done, at least.

Only that he couldn't. Peter was holding onto him. "Buddy you need to let go." He pried the boy off, but he seemed to be stuck to him – Peters hands sticking to his arms, not even holding onto him. "Stay!" The boy hiccupped. With a jolt, he realized it was the first thing he had heard the boy say since he picked him off the beach. It almost did make him stay.

"Baby boy, I have to make Breakfast. I'll just be over in the kitchen." Slowly, the hands came loose. Tony didn't notice the nickname slipping from his lips.

He hadn't even moved past the door when he heard another whine. It seemed to be Peters' new favorite form of communication.

He went back, kneeling before the bundle of blankets. "What is it?" Another whine. "Buddy, I need words. I don't speak Petey-noises so well." The boy buried his face in the pillows, mumbling. _Cute!_ "What was that?" - "Don't go!" Peter peeked out at him. "Aww, don't pout muffin. I am right next door, okay?" "Okay..." Peter buried his face again.

This time he actually made it to the fridge to pull out eggs before the whining started up again.

"Boss" Friday inquired cautiously. He motioned for her to go on. "If you found a way to ensure Mr. Parker of your presence, you may be able to continue your activities."

"Yeah... Good idea, baby girl." No noises from the living room. He counted down from ten – nine – eight – seven – six – the noise started up again.

So he started to sing.

_I wonder how I wonder why~_

_yesterday you told me about the blue blue sky~_

Friday started the song as soon as he finished the refrain, just putting on another after that. She went for singing mostly accompanied by guitar, and of course, only songs that Tony knew by heart. Peter did not stir again. He moved through the kitchen, still singing, still making breakfast. May better be right about Peter basically inhaling scrambled eggs. Who puts cinnamon in there anyway?

"Okay muffin, your aunt told me you like scrambled eggs, so I made that," Tony said, holding the plate out for the kid to take. Which of course he did not. When he placed the plate in Peters' lap, he just stared down at it, as if he didn't know what to do with it. He had to get food into the boy somehow, didn't he?

So he held the fork up to Peters' mouth, he opened his mouth like a little bird. The egg fell off the fork. Tony snorted, couldn't help himself. "Whoops, Alright I'm still learning. There's a learning curve to this I am sure. You're on the ride with me, right buddy?" He managed to get some egg into Peters' mouth. He made a little pleased sound, and Tony sighed in relief. So it's edible. He shoveled another load into the kid's mouth, who promptly started coughing. "You're okay, okay, you're okay. You're okay." He rubbed his back. "Alright let's go a bit slower, huh?"

He started witching Peter better. Does chewing always take this long? Peter's eyes really were the prettiest shade of brown. He always thought that Pepper's eyes were the prettiest. A clear, sharp blue, a mischievous twinkle in them. Hell, if they ever got a kid, he hoped they would have her eyes. But Peters – he wouldn't change a single thing about them. How they looked at him.

The plate was soon empty. He sat back with a groan. This was more intense than he thought it'd be.

"Alright kiddo, what do you think about a movie?" He really needed to take a break.

"Dragons?" Tony did not know what to do with that information. "Compiling – Peter, do you want 'How to train your Dragon'?" "Toothless!" Peter sounded happy. Friday was godsent. "Lining up." The TV came to life.

The opening lines already got him good.

Lots of people had stubbornness issues. He knew quite a few actually. He felt instantly connected to the chief, a heavy hitter with lots of responsibility.

Hm, that cannon wasn't half bad actually. The kid was smart. And desperate to prove himself. Well, he fucked up. Poor Kid. Peter cuddled into him a little bit.

Oh wow, the father could be a dick! Tony still liked him. Maybe he should have left the Avengers to fend for themselves. Should have left them to clean up their own messes. _Tony Stark – not recommended._

He would have been the boogeyman all the same.

The worldbuilding was phenomenal. Did they have to kill everything? Some people – Steve – always resolved things with their fists and it worked – as long as you were the biggest brawler.

By the time they started Dragon training, Peter was fast asleep.

He wanted to see the damn movie to the end now.

Oh, the friendship, so wholesome!

He really could get behind melting weapons to make awesome stuff. The engineering and testing montage gave him life. "Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk." he whispered, eyes glued to the screen. He cheered in time to the swelling score, Hiccup and Toothless soaring through the skies together. Maybe he should try scaring people into submission too. Maybe then someone would actually listen to him.

Soon the plot tightened. He loved the movie. He would gladly become even more of a Cyborg if it meant solving their issues.

Steve:

"I don't get why he'd want something like those damn Accords anyways! We need oversight." He pitched his voice high, whining. "Fuck oversight! Why wasn't our judgment good enough? It's all a farce anyway!" Yes, he was talking about Tony and Accords to his fucking psychiatrist. She didn't even bat an eye as he screamed in her face. She let him work off steam and vent for a bit longer.

"Okay, maybe reframing the events will help. What would this situation look like from Tony's point of view? Remember he's had different experiences in life than you did."

"Ultron" It hit Steve like a brick. "He wanted to build a shield around the whole world. Not – Ultron. But why do _we_ _n_ eed oversight then? It's not our fault he fucked up." - "Everyone makes bad choices Steve. Maybe he tried to do something?" Steve sighed "Yeah, he always tries to solve problems that aren't there." "Just because the food hasn't burned yet, doesn't mean it won't if no one stirs it."

He scoffed. " _That's_ what you think he was doing? We could have done that together. Not set it in front of our noses. He should have just said something." - "Do you think you would have listened to him?" The response was out before he could stop it. "Of course not. Stark's crazy."

"And why do you think that?" Because Wanda said so. But he wouldn't say that. "Have you seen the Accords? Full of shit. I'm pretty sure they're against the constitution." He said instead.

"Have you read them?" - "Yes." - "Did you understand them?" Silence.

She jotted something down in the notebook in her lap.

"There is no shame of not understanding them. Legal is a whole language in itself. I am sure our King could find someone to help you with that."

He did. He found a whole team of specialists. Steve could not believe how stupid he was. It took weeks to work through them. But all in all, most of it was sensible. Funding, base, Acess to technology – all things he took for granted. Yes, they did have to disclose their location, but that was a tiny part of it. Right at the end, room for changes, that this wasn't the end of it.

But that they could change stuff in it.

He could not believe they broke the team over a deal they could change. It wasn't take it or leave it.

So he wrote a letter. Picked a nice paper and everything.

_Dear Tony,_

_I know I said I would leave it to you to contact me if you needed me. I just want to say that I am sorry._

_You didn't need to be such a pest about everything. And how you treated Bucky -_

_Anyway, I worked through the Accords. They're not as bad as I thought. I'd like to work something out, to come back._

_The others don't deserve where they are now. I want to change that, but I want to do it right this time._

_Tony, I hope we can mend this – Call me anytime._

_\- Sincerely, Steve_

He just hoped this would change something for the better, this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is 'lemon tree' by Fools garden.   
> I just really wanted to watch How to train your dragon, so...  
> Also Steve, right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was hard... But this one spans a bit more time. Also, these chapters keep getting longer and longer... Anyway, we got a little of everything, so I hope you enjoy!

Peter:

Peter slept most of the weekend away, and could barely remember half the time he was awake. Still, he insisted on going to school on Tuesday. Anything to not have to think about that mess.

It was just so embarrassing!

Mr. Stark had fed him, brought him to the toilet – bathed him... His whole face lit up and he buried it in his hands.

Still looking at the upsides: Toomes was in jail (that's good right?), no more freaky alien tech weapons, a new contact in his phone – also new, courtesy of Stark Industries – called Tony C., he was still alive. He had all of his limbs. His lungs pulled in air.

Liz wasn't coming to school.

Spanish didn't really capture his attention. What was even more embarrassing – he enjoyed it. After he got out of the numbness, emerging out of the waters of disconnectedness – back to reality, really – there was Mr. Stark. He basked in the attention. Mac'n Cheese tasted so much better when the noodles were little bows, and they were shoveled into your mouth by your – what? Mentor? Idol? Father figure? His face glowing in pride at every bite that successfully landed in his mouth.

Simple cuddles on the couch – feeling so safe, so content – it just wasn't fair.

And the nicknames! Not underoos, not spider-kid.

Buddy. Muffin. Baby boy.

It still made his chest warm up pleasantly, just thinking about them.

And, quite frankly, it was so relaxing. He could happily forget about everything going on. All that mattered were those brown eyes, warm hands, that gentle voice.

He hasn't been this relaxed since he hit puberty.

"Peter, come on! We'll be late for lit!"

Definitely hasn't been that relaxed since, like, ever.

"I'm coming Ned. Chill out." He groaned. The skin on his legs pulled uncomfortably as he stood up. Breathing hurt. Asthma all over again, he thought dimly.

Literature didn't manage any better than Spanish. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. The Display was still intact (so shiny!). Mr. Stark told him it was pretty much indestructible. He couldn't wait to go patrolling again. This one shouldn't break.

Tony C: _Hey Buddy. I've talked to May, she agreed to let you come up to the compound on Saturday for training and suit upgrades if that's alright with you?_

Peter quickly swiped the notification away. May had taken the news better than he expected. He only got banned from spidermanning until he turned 21 and not for all eternity.

And he only got grounded for a year. Maybe he could half that on good behavior.

He bore it quietly. May played tough in front of Tony, but it was like Ben all over again. She did what needed doing, put on a brave face. But at night, she'd cry and cry until she fell asleep exhausted. Peter lay awake, listening with his newly enhanced senses, every night.

She got overprotective, yelling and fussing when he came home late. 'No detours' she'd write on his good morning note when he woke up for school and she was already at work.

He hoped he could soothe her enough to not repeat all of that.

Tony could be trying to help, training and suit upgrades sounded nice. All he wanted was a hug though. He took the phone back out, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

He didn't reply for two days.

Tony C: _Kid?_

_It's okay if you don't want to, but I need an answer._

Peter :P: _No, it's fine! I'd love to_

Tony C: _Happy will pick you up at 9 am Saturday?_

Peter :P: _Cool_

The next one and a half days were agonising, and he went back and forth between being excited and being anxious.

He was excited. Getting to see Mr. Stark. The endless possibilities he could feel, just being in his proximity. But – Meeting Mr. Stark.

The man he admired since he could walk. That he really fucked up on in the last few weeks. Which he then proceeded to ignore the orders of, getting really hurt and, even worse, destroying a lot of his property in the process. Just to trespass on his hospitality and care for three entire days.

Oh God, he couldn't go back and meet Mr. Stark. Ever.

But he already said yes.

On the way to the compound, he practically vibrated out of his seat with nervous energy. He tried everything: looking out the window, scrolling social media, or even doing the homework he brought in case Mr. Stark forgot about him (he could at least use his time effectively.)

Mr. Stark did not meet him when he got out of the car. Mr. Hogan just shoved him into the elevator, looking very annoyed and very relieved to be rid of him.

To his surprise, the elevator spewed him out into a living room, he surely hadn't pushed any buttons. He supposed Mr. Stark had his very own Karen.

Following cursing into the kitchen, he found the genius in a threadbare band shirt and sweatpants. There was half a pancake stuck on the ceiling.

"Argh, shit! I almost had that one!"

"Hello, Mr. Stark." The man flinched, but as soon as he recognised him his whole face lit up and it looked like he gained an inch or two.

"Peter! Glad you could make it!" He was pulled into a one-armed hug, the other still holding the empty pan. "Yeah... But why?"Peter could feel his brain rebooting. He got a hug! And Mr. Stark was making pancakes. Or he was trying to and failing miserably.

"Yeah" Tony sighed, a small smile grazing his lips, "it's a mess."

"Well, your pan is too deep and your pancake too thick. Also, try with more oil." he put all his pancake-making knowledge to good use but went immediately red. He made a mistake.

"Copy that sir!" Mr. Stark answered cheerily.

The next 20 minutes he spent laughing at Mr. Starks silly antics. He pulled faces, made his very own comicesque sound effects, commented his pancake-flipping like a reporter a sports game. "-and he gets ready, oh, look at that posture, knees bent, very nice, very nice, does the squiggle-wiggle aaaaand – flip! Outstanding performance by Stark, the crowd is cheering -" Peter was howling, tears leaking out of his eyes. By the time they finished stacking the pancakes, his belly was hurting from laughing so much.

And he was worried about meeting him.

Breakfast continued in the same manner, but soon did quiet down some. "You got some chocolate on your nose buddy." Mr. Stark was already reaching over the table with a napkin, so Peter crossed his eyes, trying to look at his nose "Where?"

Then they went down to the lab.

Peter felt his eyes pop out of their sockets. "This is awesome! I'm in the future! Ned's gonna be so jealous! Oh my God, I think I just died. Hey, Mr. Stark-" Then the Holoscreens came to life.

"Okay kid, we should put the protocols back on track. Good job hacking the suit by the way, that shouldn't have been easy." Mr. Stark was already shuffling things between three separate Holoscreens.

"Mr. Stark, No. Please. Also Baby Monitor Protocol? Really?" Peter couldn't decide if he felt more desperate or annoyed in that moment.

"So what do you suggest?" Mr. Stark swirled on his chair.

"Like – it's okay to monitor my vitals, but the visual is just plain insulting. That should stay between Karen and I. I was so offended when I found out. You can have them when you need them but-"

Mr. Stark nodded. "Override all rights to the suits visuals to Peter Parker. You called her Karen? Pretty name. You like her?" He smiled. "She's the best." Mr. Stark was back to writing "So you want to keep her?" - "Of course!" Peter cast his eyes down, fidgeting.

"What about a panic button?"

The typing seized for a moment, then started up again at double the speed. "On it. Why do you want one?" He thought about tons of concrete and steel on his back, punching the air out of his lungs – and keeping it out. The Dust he couldn't breathe through – he shrugged, shaking off the memory.

"I could have used back up when I faced Toomes." That's what he settled on. It wasn't a lie necessarily.

They spend some time hammering out the exact details; what got monitored, what got saved, what deleted and when. It felt good.

And this time he knew the exact capabilities of the software. No more surprises. He did keep the insta-kill for laughs and giggles. Mr. Starks look was priceless.

They had Sandwiches for lunch. A sandy- blond had brought them, looked like he was still in college. He had been very nervous and Peter thought he was very cute.

Mr. Stark did not tease him for oogeling though and he was grateful.

Then they worked on the hardware.

Mr. Stark wanted to make sure the fabric wouldn't melt, or the circuits, also he wanted it more shock absorbent. They tinkered around a bunch, did some stress testing.

Until Peter crossed the room to retrieve a tool and found a completely battered Iron man suit in the back. The breastplate had a deep rip in it, right across the arc reactor. The helmet was completely annihilated.

It made his hair stand on end.

"Mr. Stark, what happened?" He squeaked. Honestly he was glad he could still form a sentence with every cell of his body screaming at him _danger danger danger._

Suddenly Toomes car felt like a walk in the park.

Mr. Stark stopped in his tracks, his face fell to an impassive mask, but then he wiped it away. "I should have put that away..."

"Mr. Stark!" Peter cried. Tony sighed "That's civil war." That's all he's gonna get?! "No. I saw you! After they took off there was barely a scratch on the amour! So what the hell happened?" His voice took on a weird pitch. He felt hysterical.

Mr. Stark took his hand, pulled him towards the front of the shop, where they sat on a couch. He felt calmer not staring at the corpse of the machine. Mr. Starks hand was warm and rough, very much alive. That calmed him further.

"What I'll tell you now is confidential. No one is supposed to know. Got it?" Mr. Stark actually waited for him to affirm. He nodded.

"Steve was blubbering something about additional super soldiers, so I did some digging. There are – were – five other super soldier hydra assets in a bunker in Syberia, where Steve and Barnes were heading. I followed them. They couldn't win that fight alone.

I did avoid getting shot by the Brooklyn boys. But then – All the super-soldiers were in their cryo chambers, shot dead. Because Zemo – the guy who triggered the winter soldier, big baddie and all - he had a plan. He wanted us to turn against each other, watch us make the other into kebap."

Tony stopped to breathe. Peter felt the tension rising.

"It worked. We tore each other to pieces. I always thought my parents died because my old man was too drunk to drive. I was wrong. They were assassinated by the Winter Soldier. He killed my mum. And Steve knew! He knew and he didn't tell me." The hurt in Mr. Starks voice almost killed him.

"I was so fucking angry and I wanted him to pay. I know he was brainwashed. I know he was just a weapon. But when Zemo showed me that tape? How he killed my mum? I didn't care."

Mr. Stark closed his eyes, rubbed his chest.

"Okay..." he said, almost without sound. "You gave as good as you got I hope?" Peter tried to break the tension with something, anything.

Mr. Stark let out a snort. "Yeah, blasted that fuckers arm off."

It wasn't until he lay in bed that evening that he realized. How deep the dent in the metal was. How close he had gotten to losing another... before even getting to know him. He couldn't sleep like this.

He did the only thing he could think of: fishing his phone from his nightstand, and texting.

Peter :P: _Hey, u awake?_

Tony C: _Sure kid_

Peter :P: _How did you come back from Syberia?_

Peter stared at the 'writing' symbol. The brightness of the screen made his eyes water. Surely the answer couldn't be that complicated?

Tony C: _I didn't, technically. The King of Wakanda got me home. Rodgers killed the reactor when he slammed the shield into my chest._

Yes, because that made it better! Peter tried not to think about what Mr. Stark wasn't telling him. The space inside the suit was not big enough to get that compromised and keep the wearer uninjured.

He decided to be brave (and nosy, and a brat) and ask the question that burned under his nails.

Peter :P: _How bad were you hurt? Please, I need to know_

Tony C: _Kid, I'm alive. I'm fine._

Peter :P: _No, please tell me. Last question, promise._

Tony C: _Okay..._

_I had a concussion, six broken ribs, and a few bruises. I only got a little squished._

Peter has had enough broken ribs to attest to just how much that hurt. Mr. Stark was still trying to calm him.

Tony C: _How is Decathlon going? Your trip wasn't all that nice I guess_

Fine, if that's how you wanna play it Mr. Stark...

They talked about inconsequential stuff, until two hours later, Peter was ready to sleep.

The weird thing was, they didn't stop texting then. Over the following week, they near constantly texted back and forth. He almost had his phone taken three times.

It wasn't necessary, or important. It was just nice.

There were no mission reports. No heroing. No Patrols.

Instead, there were other things. C stood for Carbonell, Mr. Stark's mother's maiden name. She was of Italian descent, like Aunt May. She taught him to play the piano.

She died by the hands of the Winter Soldier. He still had to get over that.

He was most honest at night. Always had been. It's when he told Uncle Ben how much he missed his parents. How scared he was.

How sorry he was as Bens blood seeped through the pavement.

It was at night that he typed out a message in that chat. Which he did every night, in fact, just to delete it upon waking up. He was staring at it now.

It sent.

Peter :P: _Thank you for taking care of me after Homecoming Tony. I've never felt that safe. The stuff you did for me... It felt incredible. But that's probably weird so I'm not gonna tell you._

Okay, don't panic. Delete it, he wasn't seen – oh, he saw.

Peter let his head drop.

"Fuck"

"Language! Peter, you're late! I called for you three times already." May stood at his door. Why was she up, on her free day? Couldn't she sleep till noon like any other normal person?

A look at the time had him up and running.

He made it to class on time. When he looked again, there was a new message.

Tony:

He packed his time full of Projects. Pepper would be pleased. After the kid texted him that became a nice distraction. His heart ached. His stomach was a void. He was sick on his own feelings.

He shouldn't be missing having people around. There was no one in the kitchen, no one in the gym.

No one to need him. No one to miss him.

He should be glad they were gone.

So he worked. He made tweaks to his satellite system, designed a new watch, upgraded Clints arrows, fixed the widow bites, reinforced Caps suit.

God, he's screwed.

Was it morning already? Seemed like it. He checked his phone.

Peter :P: _Thank you for taking care of me after Homecoming Tony. I've never felt that safe. The stuff you did for me... It felt incredible. But that's probably weird so I'm not gonna tell you._

Messages like that weren't intentional, he should ignore it. It warmed his chest. It got warmer and warmer, until it was searing hot, burning him from inside.

Suddenly, his vision swam.

He rubbed his eyes aggressively.

_Stark men don't cry._ He wasn't crying. Really.

It just felt so good.

So his next step was stupid, foolish, idiotic. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. He was physically not able to resist. Always a sucker for temptation. Now he was glad for his escapades in his youth, otherwise, he wouldn't have thought of it.

Tony C: _We could repeat that kid, the way I took care of you. If you'd be interested?_

He's never waited so anxiously for a fucking text message in his entire life.


End file.
